


Tumblr Drabbles

by SofiaBane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, refugees from the tumblrpocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 16:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofiaBane/pseuds/SofiaBane
Summary: Drabbles that I wanted to preserve. You know, for posterity. Sorry this isn't a real work.





	1. Molly/Arthur gentle mommy dom smut

Molly Weasley zips up her thigh high black leather stiletto boots deliberately. Arthur is already waiting on the bed, tied down and hard. “Molly, please,” he whimpers as she adjusts her bustier, pushing her breasts higher. She feels powerful like this. She loves it.

“Shh,” she chides, drawing her riding crop against his lips. She won’t put a ball gag in tonight – she likes to hear him murmur, cry, yelp, scream. And when he closes his mouth against the crop, she flits it one, two, three against his lanky thigh. As a reward.

She’s painted her nails for this night – dark red, dangerous, spelled into an almond shape so she can drag the points down the length of Arthur’s cock. His hips buck, but she pulls her hand away. “Not yet, darling. Maybe if you are very good. Here.”

And she’s taking his glasses off his face, pressing a kiss to each eyelid. Her lipstick leaves smudges. And then, taking up her wand, she spells a blindfold over Arthur’s eyes. He likes the surprise, the heightened sensation of not being able to see what she will do to him next. “Molly, please, please touch me,” he murmurs as she runs a hand down his chest.

“Open your mouth and put out your tongue, darling.” He does, and she lets him stay like that for a moment, feeling exposed and awkward. Then she takes up the piping bag of whipped cream she’d made earlier – Ginny had walked in as she was doing so and cheerily asked if they were having cake, and Molly had said yes just to avoid questions, so there was  _that_. Anyway, she takes her breasts from the top of her bustier, squeezing a star-shaped dollop onto one dark nipple. Then she lowers it to her husband’s mouth.

Arthur groans at the first taste of the whipped cream. His lips close eagerly around her nipple, lapping at it. “Good boy, you are so good,” Molly murmurs, running an affectionate hand through his hair. She squeezes whipped cream onto her other nipple, pressing it to Arthur’s mouth when he releases the first with a soft pop. As he mouths her with those soft noises he makes, she goes warm, so fond of him.

Arthur is awkward, struggling to lap at her breasts with his hands still tied behind him. And when she pulls back again, he groans. “I’ve got something better for you,” she says, stepping back. She lifts one thigh high boot onto the edge of the bed so she might buckle the harness low around her hips. Arthur’s favorite dildo juts out from her pelvis.

She lifts herself onto the bed, planting one knee along either side of Arthur’s hips. And since she’s still got the piping bag in hand, so she dabs a bit onto the end of the dildo. “Open wide. Wider,” she instructs, running a playful finger along Arthur’s lips and then into his mouth. “I need you to suck me off now, darling. I want to see your throat bulge.”

Arthur’s guttural moan reverberates against Molly’s fingers. And then she withdraws her hand and lifts her hips high, dipping the dildo between Arthur’s gaping lips. “ _Ahh_ – “ he groans, and then his lips close around it. His adam’s apple bobs as he sucks the tip, before Molly thrusts shallowly against his tongue.

“Shall I fuck you tonight?” she asks lightly. A deep groan around the dildo. Arthur is more than ready – he’d had a buttplug soaked with potions of sensitivity inside of him all day. She uses the hand not guiding the dildo, to play around the jeweled plug slightly protruding out of him. He jerks and groans more deeply. She twists it. He bucks.

When the dildo is wet and shining with Arthur’s saliva, she withdraws it, sitting back. “I am going to breed you,” she breathes, still playing at the buttplug. “I am going to fill you with all my babies, until you are so swollen that you can’t move. And when you’re weighted down with my children, I will take you here, again and again. Do you like that idea, darling?”

“Mummy,” is all Arthur is able to whimper. With a smirk, Molly pops the buttplug out of his eager hole and pushes the thick dildo inside of him.


	2. Slytherin Weasley family AU

When Bill arrives at Hogwarts, he doesn’t know what house he wants to be in. His parents had stressed they’d be proud of him regardless. But he’s heard a few snide remarks from the worst of the purebloods on his way in, that they didn’t want a blood traitor like him around anyway, that his family is a disgrace to the wizarding world. By the time his name is called at the sorting, he’s full of righteous anger, and a bit of spite if he’s honest. He asks the hat to put him in Slytherin. He will do better than those purebloods by every metric, to show up their wealth and prestige.

Charlie isn’t motivated by spite. His great aunt Lucretia was a Slytherin, and he adores her. When they visit, she lets Charlie feed her pet thestral and she tells him about the Slytherin common room with its underwater windows. Charlie gets up early most mornings to have tea with the giant squid on the other side of the glass. He knows that cunning and a soft touch is how to get animals to do what you want.

Percy has always known he’d be a Slytherin. It’s clearly the most important house, the house that has birthed the most politicians and influential people. When he tells this to Bill, who’s been made prefect, Bill sort of rolls his eyes. “Their parents get them those cozy Ministry jobs, Perce.” And Percy thinks that’s all the more reason to beat them at their own game.

Fred and George would thrive in the particular mischief and competition of Slytherin. They clash with a lot of their Slytherin peers – maybe something to do with charming all the dungeon showers to spray jelly, who’s to say – but those same peers recognize the twins as just being *good* at magic, and driven enough to do something with that talent. Nobody wants to be on the twins’ bad side.

By the time Ron arrives at Hogwarts – well, a pattern has been established, hasn’t it? Ron yearns to be free of his older brothers’ shadows, and he knows he’ll have to work twice as hard for half the recognition. He might have asked the sorting hat to put him in Gryffindor, but the stupid hat only chuckles and says his ambition is too big and bold for all but one house. Ron, the tactician, thrives in Slytherin’s atmosphere of cunning and strategy. Somehow within his first month there he is everyone’s confidant and support, a gift he’ll use to great advantage in the future.

Ginny is a girl, smothered by all her mother’s hopes and dreams of what a daughter should be like. Ginny does not want to be a Good Girl. She learned to appreciate the chaotic neutral from the twins: she wants to do magic and she wants to fight and she wants to break into Slytherin’s disgusting all-boys Quidditch team. She tells the hat flatly that this house is where she needs to be, and it cannot argue with her. Ginny will throw down for Muggleborns and her family’s honor and the precious weirdo Luna Lovegood all day every day. The entire school is terrified and in love with her.

 


	3. Harrymort floo blowjob

_Concept: floo blowjob_

_where it’s just their head in the fire? The recipient would have to be on their knees as well, I think. Max efficiency booty call. (flooty call oh god I’m sorry)_

 

_(My original post has the giver with their head in the floo but I have updated the concept for max hilarity.)_

Deep in Malfoy Manor, a meeting of the Death Eaters is interrupted by the crackle of the great stone floo. Everyone holds their breath in anticipation of the intruder who’s going to get crucio’d, at  _least_. Voldemort’s bone white wand is aimed at the floo but he is glaring at Lucius. “You’d offer such insecure premises?”

“My Lord, I assure you I secured everything personally – ”

His excuses are drowned out as the fire roars, and someone emerges.

No. Some  _thing_.

Everyone sighs in relief and exasperation as Harry’s thick erection pokes out of the flames. “Give Malfoy a break,” he says from somewhere on the other side, his voice sounding very far away. “You know there’s not really any magic that can keep us apart.”

“Potter, we  _talked_  about this.”

“Did we?”

Voldemort should like to seize him by his erection and pull him through, but Harry would like that, wouldn’t he? He pinches the bridge of his non-nose. “I’m sure this can wait.”

“Does it look like I can wait?” Harry pokes a hand through the fire, running it over his shaft a few times. Saucy, infuriating boy. “D'you know what I’ve been thinking about? I’ve been thinking about that enchantment we tried, the one that splits your tongue – ”

“Enough,” Voldemort hisses, aware of the gaze of every Death Eater on his back. “Every time I’m plotting something, you always interrupt it with your ridiculous libidinal needs.”

“Funny, that.”

This boy. “Get out,” Voldemort snarls at the Death Eaters. “Figure it out yourselves, for once.” And then there’s the hurried scraping of chairs and gulping of wine, but Voldemort scarcely notices as he casts the tongue-splitting charm and falls before the floo.


	4. Snarry patronus soulmates

Hogwarts students finding out widely that Snape’s patronus is a doe, and between then and the end of Harry’s time at school it’s a running joke that they’re soulmates. “How’s your squeeze?” Ginny asks when she meets Harry after defense. “Those smouldering glances,” Dean sighs when he notices Snape giving Harry a death glare over dinner. Fred and George send Snape an invite to Christmas “since you’re practically family now!” Snape sends back a letter perfectly charmed to turn into a shower of piss right over the recipient’s head.

Harry would find it funny if it weren’t happening to him. “Sorry,” he mutters when some Gryffindor fifth years are making kissing noises in their direction. (The Slytherins wouldn’t dare mock Snape this way, and half of being a Gryffindor is giving one another shit, so most of the mockery comes from within Harry’s own house.) “Do you want to just give me detention?” he offers.

Snape nearly stares. “What an idiotic suggestion. Did it ever cross that starved mind of yours that perhaps being alone together would do precisely nothing to quell these fatuous rumors?”

“Then I guess you couldn’t give me detention this year at all,” Harry says brightly.

“Potter – ”

“But then it’ll look like you’ve started being really nice to me.”

“ _Potter_.”

“Severus, please, we’ve been shagging for months. When will you call me Harry?”

And then he gets hexed in the back by Snape as he runs down the corridor, which is really quite unsporting, but he probably deserved it anyway.


	5. When Harry and Voldemort's child looks nothing like them

“Why the fuck is our baby BLONDE?”

Harry was still sprawled along the St. Mungo’s hospital bed, sweaty and disheveled and clearly a little manic after having delivered their first child. Voldemort had just entered, carrying the newly-clean baby, and Harry thought he was going mad.

A healer cleared her throat. “Babies are born with all sorts of hair, Mr. Potter, it may not be permanent – ”

“But why,” he demanded. “Don’t give me recessive gene shit either – ”

“Recessive… gene?”

“Purebloods,” he said, throwing up his hands. “There isn’t a blonde in either of our families for the past eight generations. The baby was supposed to be a perfect blend of our features. Well, not  _our_ features. Mine, and Tom Riddle’s, properly. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” he asked of the healer, who was of course at a loss.

They’d talked about it before, a bit. Voldemort was doubtful his current serpentine appearance would be genetic, and their daughter did seem to have a nose, so thank fuck for that. But they had agreed that the baby taking after Riddle would be the most logical conclusion. Harry had been daydreaming the entire pregnancy of that baby, a son or daughter with his bright green eyes and Tom’s exquisite cheekbones.

Instead, their daughter was… blonde. Harry hadn’t slept with anyone else (though to be honest, Voldemort wouldn’t be overly concerned if he had), but the papers would  _talk_. It was an ignominious way to introduce their daughter to the world. It would be such a headache.

Voldemort was stepping forward. “You are causing a scene,” he said firmly. “Here, hold our daughter.”

“Is she, though?” But he accepted the bundle of blankets and it was undeniable, that the baby’s magic was the same as their own. “Huh. Hi, baby girl,” he said in a gooier voice. “What happened to you?”

“Harry – ”

Her eyes were blue, but this at least was typical for newborns, he knew that much. Her expression was sharp and curious. Maybe there was something of Voldemort there.

“Leave us,” Voldemort said to the healers, in a tone that didn’t invite dissent. So even though it must be very against hospital protocol to leave them alone, they all scattered, shutting the door behind them.

Voldemort sat on the edge of the bed, clearing his throat as he did when attempting to be gentle with Harry. “The magic of my resurrection was entirely unprecedented, you know,” he began. When Harry only gave him a dubious look, he continued. “And I certainly did not consider procreation as a goal or interest of mine when creating this body.”

They’d talked about this, too. It took quite a lot of invasive tests for them both to even confirm they would be capable of conceiving, and that healer had said nervously that Harry’s body probably offered a better chance at a successful pregnancy than Voldemort’s did. Harry had laughed himself sick in that exam room, because they’d never even discussed  _Voldemort_  as the carrier, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. A lot of healer’s visits and fertility potions later, Harry had gotten pregnant with Voldemort’s child. One healer had asked to write up their…  _unusual_  circumstances for a medical journal (hell no) and all of them agreed it was nothing short of a miracle. And now Voldemort was going to tell him something had gone wrong.

“Really, this body is an amalgamation of many creatures,” Voldemort continued. “My own soul, your blood. Nagini’s venom nursed me to strength first. My father’s bone. And… Wormtail’s flesh.”

“Oh fuck no,” Harry breathed as he realized what Voldemort meant.

“Don’t say those words in front of our child,” he said severely. “I only anticipated that the baby would genetically take after my father as a – guess. Obviously that didn’t necessarily have to be the case. So instead, perhaps – she might take after Wormtail.”

Harry looked down at his daughter, with her wispy straw-blonde hair. “I am so sorry,” he said to her seriously. A gurgle and a spit bubble. “Yeah, I know. Sorry your dada’s a freak of nature.” The baby did not seem concerned, though.

Voldemort’s hand rubbed the back of Harry’s neck. ‘At least she’s got a nose’ would’ve been a cheap shot, not that Voldemort was sensitive about such things. “At least it wasn’t Nagini,” Harry settled on instead. “Sorry, baby girl. May you never learn the truth.” Another spit bubble. “Exactly.”


End file.
